surfing

[kolemath]

SURFING


Sit in the sand and watch the waves.
                                                            Rolling waves, rolling waves, rolling waves.
Dive into the rhythm of the sea.
                                                                        Rolling waves, rolling waves, rolling waves.
Wade and push from ankle, knee, to waist.
                                                                                    Rolling waves, rolling waves, rolling waves.

            Toss the longboard over surf,
                 overhead peaks of slamming foam.
                        Hold the breath of calm.
                                                Resurface. Haul back the board. Heave on.

                                                            Paddle, paddle, paddle, over wave, wave, wave, 
                                                                        past the white wash to the quiet space,
                                                                                    sound barrier of smashing waves behind
                                                                                                lets no sound form shore invade.
 
                                                                                    No voice from land but a pelican or gull.
                                                                                               Dolphin breath and fish splash say,
                                                                                 “A shark could kill you from below shadows.”
                                                                                                “Coexist,” I say.
                                                           
                                                                                             The waves roll as the roll of waves,
                                                                                                 the tide and current,
                                                                                        reshape the bloodstream and heartbeat,
                                                                                          liquid unity, the ocean takes the pulse,
                                                                     healing in the waves, rolling all back to blue horizons.
 
                                                                        Flat horizon, line of stillness, births rolling waves.
                                                            A wave ahead, a set of waves, God’s collection, handmade.
                                               
                                                One slams ahead.
                                                            Two is paddle over.
                                                                 Three is turn around.
                                                                 Four is paddle in.
                                                       Paddle, paddle, paddle into the rolling wave, the cradled space.
                                                    Fall in, push up, feet flying, body skimming down the face.  Bliss.
 
Dive off. Back to land.
Sunlight dims.  Sand darkens.
 


 

 
SURFING

Rolling waves, rolling waves, sandy sit down watching waves.
Rolling waves, rolling waves, sea dive rhythm, wave, wave, wave.
Rolling waves, rolling waves, wading and pushing ankle, knee, waist.
Toss the longboard over surf, peak overhead of throwing slams of foam,
tumbling gnashing deluge, warm flail and holding breath to resurface.
Haul back the board. Heave on.
Paddle, paddle, paddle, over rolling waves,
past the white wash to the quiet space, sound barrier of smashing waves.
No sound from shore. No voices from land.
A pelican or dolphin breath. Fish splash.
A shark could kill me from the view below of salty shadows.
Flat horizon of zero movement, birthing rolling waves.
The waves roll and the roll of waves, tide and current, bloodstream and heartbeat,
the ocean takes the pulse and rolls it back to the horizon on the rolling waves.
 
A wave ahead, a set of waves, God’s collection, handmade.
One slams just in front into my open nose.
Two is paddle over. Three is turn around.
Four is paddle in.
Rolling wave, paddle, paddle, cradle to the throw.
Fall in, push up, pop feet flying, skimming down the face, taken by the wave.
Old friend. Rolling wave invites me to the place, body still but swift along the face.
 
Everything wonderful ends.
Dive off. Touch land.
Sunlight dims.  Sand darkens.